I’m living in the underground
Like some shortsighted mole,
And, though I might feel safe and sound,
I’m cut off from the whole.

I manage, though, to muddle through,
And that from day to day.
It’s hardly what I want to do
But seems the only way.

I long to scale the windblown peaks
And swim in sparkling seas
But occupy a place which reeks
Of mildew and disease.

Yet, loath to stay a troglodyte,
I start to climb towards the light.

Photo by Adam Bixby on Unsplash

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